


I'm Weak, My Love

by Infinatesky



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Hurt/Comfort, I'm right, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Pining, Song: Her Sweet Kiss (The Witcher), Unrequited Love, but not really, jaskier is bisexual, mentions of blood and injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinatesky/pseuds/Infinatesky
Summary: “I don’t need his protection,” Jaskier says to the empty air around him. He brushes the tears from his face once more, before jumping to his feet and shaking out his legs. Back by the still roaring fire, Jaskier picks up Geralt’s forgotten cloak and pulls the heavy material around his shoulders. He pauses to refill his waterskin from the stream, and to extinguish the fire, but he doesn’t take time to eat any of the fish. To do so, he concludes, would be to admit that he needs Geralt’s help to survive. He had a whole life before he even met the witcher, and he knows how to keep himself alive, thank you very much.The bard begins to trek along beside the stream. He has no idea where he’s going, but he’s not waiting around to be treated like scum by the man who he...well, obviously the feeling wasn’t mutual.~Or~Jaskier runs away after some particularly nasty words from Geralt, but the forest is mean and Jaskier gets hurt. Will the witcher be there to save him once more?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 350





	I'm Weak, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, folks! Hope you're all doing well and staying healthy. 
> 
> Here's a little something I spun off yesterday because Jaskier is my love and I couldn't stop thinking about him. Please enjoy! XX

Dew lights up the tips of the tall, green grass lining the creek’s border. Jaskier watches, left hand strumming absent-mindedly at his lute, as Geralt steps past the grass to throw his net into the shallow water. At their makeshift camp in the thick of the forest, it stays dark long into the morning. Because of this, Jaskier slept in way past Geralt. When the bard awoke, it was by himself on his makeshift bed of leaves and dirt. Geralt’s cloak was set in a heap to Jaskier’s side, but other than that he hadn’t seen any sign of the witcher for nearly an hour. When Geralt did return, he didn’t give any explanation, but just went about his business in silence, sharpening his sword and preparing his armour before digging out his fishing net. Even now as Jaskier watches him, he can’t be certain Geralt’s noticed him, although of course he has, because witchers always do.

The net makes a loud splash as Geralt pulls it up from the river. Inside of it, still thrashing, he’s caught a fish. Jaskier realizes just then how hungry he is—they hadn’t had much to eat the day before, and even the day before that all he can remember eating for sure were a few berries picked from a small bush to the side of the road. 

Geralt puts the fish out of its misery with one quick strike of a rock, and prepares it expertly with a small sword. Jaskier sets his lute beside the tree and rolls up his sleeves. Glowing embers still line the pit where they built a fire during the night, and when Jaskier carefully balances a few lighter, smaller pieces of wood atop the embers, they begin to heat up and alight. Content with the fire, Jaskier settled himself once more against the nearest tree and tugged his lute back onto his lap. Geralt began to cook the fish over the fire, and his habitual silence gives Jaskier what he hopes will be the perfect opportunity to show Geralt something he's been working on. 

“There’s a new song I’ve been playing around with, if you would be so kind as to let me know what you think,” the bard says. He plays through the whole thing without a single mistake, which is impressive, since this is the first time he’s put all of the verses together. It’s a good song, with interesting lyrics that recount the tale of Geralt's latest hunt, and a chorus that is sure to get audiences singing along. Jaskier watches Geralt expectantly after he’s finished the song. 

“So?” Jaskier asks after a few moment’s silence. “What did you think?” 

“Hmm?” Geralt says. He still hasn’t so much as looked in the bard’s direction. The fish is nearly finished, and the fire has grown large and hot. 

“The song, Geralt. Did you like it?” 

“Wasn’t listening.” 

Jaskier stands, lute in hand, and closes the distance between himself and the witcher. “You weren’t- ha!” Jaskier’s laugh is short and sharp and humourless. “The song that I just played for you. There’s no way you didn’t hear it.” 

“Didn’t hear it.” 

“Well, okay…” Jaskier straightens his shoulders, adjusts the grip on his instrument. “I’ll play it again, then.”

“No.” 

“I—wha-?” 

“No, Jaskier.” Geralt takes the fish off of the fire and finishes separating it into manageable pieces. 

“What do you mean ‘No’? This is my job. I’m your bard, I write songs. I write songs about you! I’ve gotten your name out there, and you won’t even take a minute to listen to a song?” Jaskier’s arms are spread wide with emotion, creating somewhat of a barrier locking Geralt by the fire. The witcher stands and pushes past Jaskier easily. He strides towards Roach and begins loading his horse with supplies. 

“There’s real work to be done, Jaskier. Necessary work. A kikimora has been spotted in the next town over, and someone’s got to kill it.” 

Jaskier almost trips over his own feet in his haste to stand beside Geralt. 

“Let me come, then. I’ll help with the ‘real work’.” He’s hurt by Geralt’s remarks, but the witcher’s unkindness is not new. Perhaps if he sees that Jaskier can be of real help to him, he’ll appreciate the bard. Maybe he would finally call Jaskier a friend. Jaskier looks at the witcher with his eyes wide and wanting. He knows how pretty his light blue eyes are—has been told many times by many people that they are irresistible. Maybe it’ll work on Geralt.

Geralt seems to flinch with anger at Jaskier's proposal. He tugs Roach's reins a bit harder than necessary as he says: “It’s men’s work, Jaskier—you’re too weak. You’ll only get in the way.” Geralt kicks a leg over Roach’s side and says his final remarks from sitting atop the horse’s back. “You don’t even hunt for yourself; without my help you would surely starve to death. Eat the fish I caught for you and wait here. I’ll be back before the next sunrise.”

Roach is off before Jaskier can think of anything to say. He doesn’t move right away. He can’t. His limbs feel heavy and stuck, and his breath comes in deep rasps that hurt his chest. It isn’t until a drop of liquid falls onto his chest that Jaskier realizes he’s crying. A gust of wind pushes against the front of his legs, pushing him backwards and all but guiding him towards a large cluster of considerably sized rocks which he uses to take a seat. Jaskier pulls his lute in and hugs it against his chest. He uses one hand to hold up his chin, every once in a while wiping at his face to clear the slow but persistent gathering of tears. 

The wind continues; it throws leaves around above Jaskier’s head and makes the trees dance. Past the tops of the tall oak and maple trees, dark grey clouds begin to gather. A rainstorm is surely on its way. Jaskier doesn’t pay much attention to the sky or the trees—he’s too busy biting at his lip and replaying all the things that Geralt said. 

He’s not weak. He may look small next to Geralt, but so would any other average sized man. He’s no stranger to defending himself from rowdy people during performances, and fuck, it’s not as if his life has been perfect. He has a past! Geralt is unfair to judge him so, and to act as if Jaskier is nothing but a burden. 

“I don’t need his protection,” Jaskier says to the empty air around him. He brushes the tears from his face once more, before jumping to his feet and shaking out his legs. Back by the still roaring fire, Jaskier picks up Geralt’s forgotten cloak and pulls the heavy material around his shoulders. He pauses to refill his waterskin from the stream, and to extinguish the fire, but he doesn’t take time to eat any of the fish. To do so, he concludes, would be to admit that he needs Geralt’s help to survive. He had a whole life before he even met the witcher, and he knows how to keep himself alive, thank you very much.

Soon their little camp is empty of any possessions, with everything either gone with Geralt and Roach or strapped around Jaskier’s back (this being his lute and a knife Geralt left behind). The bard begins to trek along beside the stream. He has no idea where he’s going, but he’s not waiting around to be treated like scum by the man who he...well, obviously the feeling wasn’t mutual. He scuffs his boot against the ground with a burst of indignance. Jaskier could have had anyone he’d chosen. His songs were becoming popular and the coin in his pockets kept growing by the day. Women from all walks of life threw themselves at him, and although men willing to admit it were hard to come by, he could have had many of them as well. And yet, he chose to leave behind his success and follow the witcher into the unknown. Little good that had done him, Jaskier and his hopeless crush. Witches don’t feel emotion. 

By evening, when the light of day is just beginning to dwindle towards the horizon, Jaskier’s feet burn and his back aches. Despite the berries and plants he scavenged a few hours ago, his belly is painfully empty. The creek is somewhere now miles behind him, and so the bard is stuck with dry lips and his quickly-emptied waterskin. He’s nowhere close to any town, but his steps are growing uneven and slow, so he takes a break right where he is. A particularly mossy spot on the ground serves as his seat when he all but falls down. The instrument on his back makes a noise in protest as it bumps against the ground. He sighs with relief to feel the weight off of his feet after walking all day. 

Jakier sits nearly completely still for five minutes, which is an unusually long time for the energetic bard to sit still. He can feel his body regaining energy, as if he’s taking a power nap. He thinks about Geralt: how is his hunt going? Is he on his way back to camp yet? But he quickly dispels the thoughts best he can. No need to dwell on someone who so obviously hates him. Once he’s gathered up some strength, Jaskier pulls his boots off one by one, and lets the objects fall off of his back. Now much more comfortable, he looks around to take in this part of the forest. The trees here are younger and sparser than they were at the camp, and he can see more of the sky, now dark with both angry clouds and the promise of nightfall. There’s moss covering much of the ground, as well as… boletuses! He reaches an arm forward to pluck one of the many bulbous mushrooms growing on the ground among moss and tree needles. Facts he picked up somewhere a long time ago pop into his head: this large species of boletus mushroom has a nutty and mild taste, and can be stored dried for up to a year. Take that, Gerald! Jaskier’s knowledge of edible wild plants will in fact keep him from starving to death! He happily eats a healthy portion of mushrooms, and can feel his energy coming back to him with each one. 

When the rainfall first starts, Jaskier accredits it to his good luck and fortune. He tips back his head with his mouth open and waits for falling raindrops to quench his thirst. When the rain grows stronger with no sign of stopping, however, Jaskier is forced to question his luck. He pulls the hood of Geralt’s cloak up over his damp hair and returns his boots to his feet. The ground sloshes messily underneath him as he continues walking, and mud quickly turns the bottoms of his pant legs brown. Worrying for its safety, Jaskier brings his lute underneath the material of the cloak, in the hopes that it’ll keep it at least a bit dryer. It probably won’t make too much of a difference, as Jaskier can already feel the water seeping through the multiple layers of fabric and onto his skin. 

The warm day has turned into a wet, cold night. The wind, ever persistent, comes right through the wet clothes, chilling Jaskier to the bone. He can hardly see five feet in front of him once darkness falls. When Jaskier hears a trickle of groundwater, he continues towards it, hoping to find a stream to follow out of the forest, perhaps even to a town. The sound grows louder as he gets closer, and soon it sounds too loud to be a small stream, but Jaskier still doesn’t expect the cliff that he nearly walks right off of. He cries out in surprise, and swings his body around wildly to stop himself from falling into the water way below. In doing so he all but throws Geralt’s knife out of its hoster and over the edge. Now unarmed and rather shaken, Jasker puts his hands on his knees and tries to calm his breathing. That was close—too close. 

He turns and walks away from the water, unwilling to walk near it for fear of it taking a sudden turn and presenting another cliff for him to fall off of. He hears wolves howling in the distance, and tries to pick up the pace of his walking, but his tiredness is catching up to him, and the mushrooms are wearing off. The beginnings of a headache spark up in his frontal lobe. He shivers, and pulls the cloak tighter around himself. It’s like the damp air is holding him in its cold arms. He wishes he were back at the camp, pressed against Geralt for warmth and watching the memorizing glow of the fire. 

A rock face nearly becomes one with his own face when it appears out of nowhere. Jaskier manages to notice it just before he hits it. Using the cold fingers of his left hand to trace it, he walks next to the rock wall until it falls away from his hand. An opening in the side of the rock presents a small cave, just big enough for Jaskier to lie down in without any part of him left out in the rain. There’s no space to make a fire, and no dry wood to use anyways, so Jaskier curls in on himself and tries to warm up the space with his own small supply of body heat. Despite how tired he is, fatigue clouding his mind and dulling his senses, he can’t seem to fall asleep. He’s shivering under the heavy, wet cloak, and his bones are pressed uncomfortably into the solid ground. Wind and rain howls by just outside the entrance, and his headache won’t go away. 

Jaskier rolls onto his back and laces his fingers over his painfully empty belly. He misses Geralt. He lets his eyes lose focus, but his lips begin to move. Slowly and softly, he sings a few of the words from one of his sadder songs. 

“I'm weak my love, and I am wanting  
If this is the path I must trudge  
I welcome my sentence  
Give to you my penance…”

A yawn breaks off the rest of the verse. He finally is taken by sleep, but it isn’t to last. Jaskier is woken long before dawn by something touching his face. He hums a noise of protest, turning his face away. 

“Mmh. Geralt, just five more min-” 

His half asleep rambling is cut off by a bark, loud and gruff and directly beside his ear. Jaskier shoots up to sitting, now wide awake. Standing beside him and oddly docile is a large black wolf. Its eyes gleam in the darkness. 

“Good dog… Good dog,” Jaskier says as calmly as he can. He stands slowly to his feet, thanking the fact that he left his boots on and his lute within his reach, but regretting the missing knife. The wolf simply watches as he cowers backwards out of the cave, but where there is one wolf there’s bound to be more. Sure enough, Jaskier only makes it a few steps out of the cave before a second set of wolf eyes are upon him. As his own eyes adjust, Jaskier makes out more and more sets of eyes surrounding him. He clutches his lute to his chest and, with all the strength he can muster, calls out once for the witcher. Geralt had been right, it would seem. And now, because of his stubbornness, Jaskier will be killed by a pack of wolves. How ironic, to be standing in a pack of wolves and to want so badly for just one more—the White Wolf of Rivia. 

There’s nowhere to run, so Jaskier stands his ground. The circle of wolves closes in on him. One wolf, a slim, brown-grey wolf with a tear in one ear, is the first to lunge at him. It knocks Jaskier onto his back, tearing a large gash into his shoulder. It’s preparing to finish him when some force knocks it backwards. Jaskier hears a horse’s whinny. He watches, vision blurry, as a dark figure with long, white hair dismounts the horse and pulls his sword from its sheath.

~-~-~

When Jaskier comes to, the sun is shining warmly through a small square window. He tries to sit up, but someone’s hand is pressed against his chest, holding him down on the bed. 

“You shouldn’t move. It’ll worsen the bleeding.” Geralt’s gruff voice is impossible to mistake. 

“Geralt, I-” Impatient, Jaskier tries once more to sit up in bed. 

“Stay still, Jaskier.” 

“What happened?” 

Geralt doesn’t reply right away. His hand stays where it is against Jaskier’s chest. It’s warm, and although the skin is calloused and rough, Jaskier enjoys the contact. The bard realizes that his clothes are gone, but he doesn’t think much of it. The blankets he’s now wrapped in are dry and warm, and definitely much more comfortable than his ruined silk doublet and Geralt’s soaked cloak.

After a long silence, but before Jaskier can think of anything else to say, Geralt rises and stands by the window, positioning himself so his back is to the bed. This seems to make it easier for Geralt to speak. 

“You nearly died. You should have know better than to go off unprepared.” 

“I didn’t mean to run into a wolf pack.” Jaskier raises his voice. 

“You were soaked to the bone.” Geralt raises his as well.

“I would have been had I stayed at the camp as well,” Jaskier yells, which causes him to break into a coughing fit. Before he’s caught his breath, Geralt is back by his side, repositioning the pillow under his head and offering him some water from a pitcher on the bedside table. 

“When I found you,” Geralt says, voice low, “You were shaking from the cold, and weak from dehydration and hunger. You were about to be an easy breakfast for that wolf pack, but even if you hadn’t stumbled into their territory, I doubt you would have survived much past daybreak.”

Geralt takes a pause here. He leans over Jaskier to check the wound on his shoulder. Apparently unsatisfied with what he finds, the witcher uses a damp cloth to dab gently at the wound. Jaskier isn’t in pain—perhaps he’s still in shock—but he winces when the cloth comes back covered in blood. 

“Where we had set up camp, that was in a thicker part of the forest, lower down on the mountain. It doesn’t get so cold there, and the older trees would have been better protection against the rain.” Geralt continues talking as he rings out the cloth. “And you wasted a perfectly good fish.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier grunts. He considers following up by reminding Geralt what he’d said before he’d left, but he doesn’t want Geralt to wonder why his words made that big of an impact. That would lead Jaskier and Geralt down an uncomfortable conversation which could possibly end in Jaskier accidentally admitting to his feelings for the witcher. “Thank you for rescuing me,” he says instead.

“Hmm,” Geralt says. He sits back down beside the bed, and lets a hand come to rest once more atop Jaskier’s chest. 

“Why did you do it?” Jaskier asks. He’s fighting against the urge to bring one of his own hands up to intertwine his fingers with Geralt’s (damn half-asleep brain), so he tries to start a conversation for something else to focus on.

“After slaying the kikimora, I returned to our camp to find it empty. You had my cloak, and my knife.” 

“Why did you save me?” 

Geralt has no fast answer for Jaskier’s question. He begins to run his large hand over Jaskier’s delicate collar bones, spreading warmth everywhere he touches. The golden light from the window catches in Geralt’s long hair, casting is a beautiful white-blonde. Jaskier relaxes into the touch and warmth, and can feel sleep tugging at him. 

The door to their room opens with a slam, breaking the spell of silence. A woman with thick, dark hair and a ridiculously tight dress stands in the doorway. Of course it’s her. 

“Hello, Geralt, Jaskier,” the sorceress says. Their names roll off her tongue sweetly, but as always her voice has a slight edge to it, as if she’s sizing you up for a fight. 

“Yennefer,” Geralt says, his eyes lighting up disgustingly with what could so easily be mistaken for affection, if one didn’t know that witchers are unable to feel emotion. He stands and takes a few steps away from Jaskier, motioning for Yennefer to take his spot. “Thank you for getting here so quickly. He was attacked by wolves, and could use your help.”

“Oh, no need!” Jaskier says, voice as bright as he can make it. “I can’t even feel it. It’ll heal on its own in no time.” Jaskier moves to sit up once more, and this time it’s Yennefer’s hand that moves to keep him down. Her slim, cool fingers aren’t nearly as pleasant as Geralt’s hand. Both the witcher and the sorceress are frowning at Jaskier, who gives in with a huff and relaxes back down. “Alright, but be gentle… I’m weak.” In his discomfort, he says the last part as a dig at Geralt, echoing what the witcher had said the day before. Geralt doesn’t even seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t care. Or maybe he just thinks that Jaskier has finally come to agree with him. 

For all the reasons that Jaskier dislikes Yennefer, he has to admit that she is a talented witch. Her touch is feather light as she works to heal the wound, and the potion that she helps him drink puts him right to sleep. 

He wakes up once more to golden light passing through the little window, although he’s sure that it must be the next day. A bowl of soup rests on the table beside him, still steaming. He’s alone in the room, and with no one to stop him, Jaskier sits up. The wound on his shoulder pulls uncomfortably with the movement, but after a quick glance he can see that it isn’t bleeding, and seems to be healing quickly. He gets a head rush from swinging his legs over the side of the bed, so the bard decides to drink down the soup before trying to stand. 

His bare feet are cold against the floor, and he has to hold his sheet around himself as he still doesn’t have his clothes. After taking his time to stand up, Jaskier rushes towards the side of the room where his lute is waiting for him against the wall. It’s a bit scratched, and needs to be re-tuned, but it still sings when he strums it. In the midst of fighting off a pack of wolves to save Jaskier, somehow Geralt thought to save his precious lute as well. Jaskier feels heat rise to his cheeks as he tries to imagine why Geralt would have gone to all the effort. It’s a simple gesture, but it shows so much caring and thought. For the first time, Jaskier dares to think that maybe Geralt could actually care about him. He needs to say thank you, for real this time. 

Jaskier throws the door open and sticks his head out. The door leads out onto a dirt road, lined with beautiful golden wheat fields. Stark against the gentle farmland and blue sky, Geralt in his all black clothes is easy to find. 

“Geralt! I-” Jaskier begins, but then he stops. There’s another figure beside Geralt, wearing equally as distinct clothing. She’s standing close enough to him that their silhouettes overlap. She’s holding his hand. 

“-I’m leaving.” Jaskier finishes. He closes the door harder than necessary. The room is small and has hardly any place for something to be hiding, but his clothes must be in here somewhere, so Jaskier searches. There’s a large wooden chest against one wall, and its drawer is empty, but perhaps his clothes have fallen behind the chest. He ties the sheet around his hips, and grabs onto either side of the chest with both hands. The thing is sturdy and heavy, but he’ll get it to move. He pulls so hard that all the air leaves his lungs. He can feel the wound on his shoulder begin to bleed again, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until he’s forced to by strong arms which wrap around his lithe waist and pull him gently backwards. He doesn’t stop until he’s pushed down to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t register Geralt talking to him until the witcher’s face is right up in front of his own. 

“Jaskier, Jaskier stop! Breath!” 

Jaskier’s eyes are wide open and his hands are splayed flat against his own thighs. “I was looking for my clothes,” he manages to choke out.

“Behind the chest?” 

“I… I couldn’t find them anywhere else, and I had to leave. I have to leave.”

“Why?”

“I know when I’m not wanted.” Jaskier looks down at his lap. “You said it yourself: I’m just a burden.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Well, ah, obviously I don’t know.” Jaskier says with a throw of his hands. “You take care of me because I’m pitiful and helpless. You only came looking for me because I took your cloak with me. I might as well just go.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Geralt says, voice deep and emphasised. 

“Well then what did you mean? Because that’s what you said.”

“I meant that… that …” Geralt cuts himself off abruptly. He slips one of his hands around the back of Jaskier’s head, and kisses him. It’s rough and uncoordinated, and both of their lips are dry, but it’s still the best damn kiss Jaskier has ever received. “I meant that I didn't want you to be in danger. I would rather die than watch you die,” Geralt says once their lips have parted, but before he pulls away. His breath is hot on Jaskier’s face. 

“Well you nearly fucked that one up,” Jaskier says, causing them both to laugh. 

“Never do that again,” Geralt says. “I’m sorry. I was mean to you and it wasn’t fair. I was scared. Never do that again.”

Jaskier leans his head against Geralt’s chest, listens for his heartbeat. He wants to argue, to get more of an apology out of Geralt, but he doesn’t bother. The guy did save his life, after all. 

“Okay,” he says, “but from now on you listen to all my songs.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kodus greatly appreciated! Love you!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr infinate-sky


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